


Kill You Romantically

by Kaibbage (Lalaen)



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Breathplay, Burnplay, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Don't Try This At Home, Heavy BDSM, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Masochism, Painplay, Strangulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-12 03:32:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5650993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lalaen/pseuds/Kaibbage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nothing makes Bakura more content than Yami's extreme sadism. For the two of them, it's what's normal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kill You Romantically

**Author's Note:**

> this is in no way responsible bdsm practice hell even they know that.

"...and if you don't fucking leave my sister alone," Yami read in a flat tone - flat for him, so it was still oddly dramatic, but not expressive in anything close to a meaningful way. "Then you will find the tables are turned."

"Holy shit, you're horrible," Bakura grunted. He was holding another copy of his latest screenplay, laying on his back on the bed in such a way that his head was almost hanging off. His long hair dragged on the floor. 

"What?" Yami did not notice the slight but perceptible pout tugging at his lips. He was too busy being mildly offended. He looked up from the script to squint at Bakura.

"You're literally so bad. Can you not talk like a normal human being?"

Yami's pout got a little more pronounced. "I'm reading it exactly!"

"You sure are," Bakura sighed. "Just. Say the shit like you're talking to someone, not like you're fucking reading?"

"Then you'll find the tables are turned," Yami repeated slowly. His tone was exactly the same as before, but this time he looked Bakura in the eyes as he said it. 

"Jesus," Bakura breathed, squeezing his eyes shut. This was just... Incredible. So incredible. 

There was a long moment of silence. "Will you read your line, or not." Yami said prissily. Bakura considered slithering off of the bed headfirst. 

"I'll consider it if you bring my cigarettes over here. Would smoking two at once ease my suffering?"

"You're not supposed to smoke inside."

"Suck my ass, Yami." He slowly rolled onto his stomach and stretched to grab his phone. He'd thought he heard it vibrate a while ago, but he was a little bit too busy making Yami sexually frustrated at the time and then he'd honestly forgotten about it. He hated admitting how easy it was to forget about things when he was locked in a gross frantic makeout session with that fucker. 

As Bakura's eyes scanned over the messages - there were a lot of them - that Marik had sent, he felt his mood slink down the hallway and flush itself down the toilet. This was a new low, even for Marik. Apparently nothing was sacred. 

The silence stretched on and on. Bakura stared blankly at the phone, poised to type some flippant reply, then tossed it aside as he felt his throat tighten. Fuck that. If he was going to be that casual about it, he could go fuck himself. He didn't deserve a reply. Bakura whipped his phone across the room at the pile of dirty laundry in the corner, but it ended up bouncing off of the wall. He saw Yami jolt in his chair, but didn't give a fuck. He felt those sharp eyes watching him and waited, just waited for Yami to say something. 

He didn't. He just watched. Bakura's throat felt so tight he could barely breathe. The silence stretched on again. 

"Get out," Bakura said in low voice that definitely did not shake, not at all. 

Yami stood, and for a moment Bakura was amazed it was so easy. Yeah, he knows this is serious. Get the fuck out. Then he felt that warm, disgustingly understanding hand on his shoulder and he smacked it away. "Don't fucking touch me." He expected a fight, he was ready for one. Just let this dramatic bitch start something right now, he'd get wrecked. 

There was just another silence. Bakura stared determinedly at the floor, jaw clenched, waiting. He wanted to be left alone. Yami had no fucking place here right now. It's not like they were together. 

The door clicked open, then closed. Thank fuck. 

Bakura flopped over, facing the wall and pulling the pillow over his head. On his exhale he let himself tremble just a little. He was fine. Marik could go eat ass. Yami too, he could take his gross concern and fucking shove it. Bakura didn't need that shit. Or anyone's shit. Or anyone, at all. 

The door clicked open again. 

He had no energy anymore to get angry, and he knew Ryou would probably just think he was asleep and quietly leave again. His roommate was pretty great that way, always gave him all the space he needed. No doubt the only reason he even came in was because Yami told him to check up. Unbelievable.

"There's tea next to the bed for you," that was Yami's voice, not Ryou's, but the surge of anger didn't come back. He really didn't have the energy for it any more. Whatever. 

Tea sounded sort of good.

It was a long few minutes before he decided he was ready to come out from under that pillow, and when he did he ignored Yami, who was sitting back in the chair. The low grade annoyance that caused was not high on Bakura's list right now. Mostly he wanted that tea and to not think about Marik at all. 

Actually, low grade annoyance at Yami was a really good way to not think about Marik. Bakura looked determinedly away from him as he collected the mug and cradled it in his hands.

It was far from the perfect cup, slightly oversteeped and a little too sweet. Whatever. 

When he heard a match strike, he did look up. He got an eyeful of the undeniably attractive sight of Yami lighting a cigarette between his lips, sucking gently - and with obvious pleasure he still somehow denied - to catch the ember. Bakura could never decide if Yami was such a sexy smoker just because the act itself was so aesthetically pleasing or because of that added joy of seeing him do anything he thought of as naughty. There was a look he got in his eye when he knew he was being 'bad', a look that said he fucking loved it. 

When Yami reached out to hand him the lit cigarette, Bakura could've moaned he approved so much. He'd certainly had sex less satisfying than that moment was. Tea and a cigarette. Holy shit. 

"I could kiss you." He said flatly, taking a deep drag of the smoke. 

"Mm, if you want to," Yami answered, licking his lips in a weird, almost demure way that said it was a subconscious impulse. A needy tingle ran up Bakura's spine, and he curled his toes against the comforter. He wanted Yami to bite him, hurt him, tear him up with those perfect long nails that he never wanted to admit he looked after. All he wanted in the world right now was for that shitty princess over there to fuck him up, make it so he didn't have to think about anything. So he couldn't think about anything if he tried. 

Bakura grabbed the front of Yami's shirt in a tight fist, leaning in close enough for his hooked nose to nearly touch the other man's. "Make me bleed, Yami," he said in a low, quiet growl. 

Yami's eyes widened for only a split second, then a truly disconcerting smile pulled at his lips. There was hardly a moment for relief to wash through Bakura before he was whipped to the side by a violent tug at his hair. A rough elbow to the side sent him sprawling on his back on the bed. Yami was very small, but he was also fast - and more importantly, ruthless. In an instant he was sitting on Bakura's chest, staring down at him with a sadist's eyes. It was a look that would terrify most, but it filled Bakura with a feeling of safety. He felt the tension ease out of his body, and a grin of anticipation crept across his face. "C'mon. Hit me." 

Yami backhanded him, the ring he wore on his right hand making Bakura see stars. Instead of any kind of exclamation of pain, he let out a gasping sigh. His mouth tasted like a bruise and it made him drool. He barely had time to suck in a good breath before Yami's small but shockingly strong hand cut off his air, closing like a vice around his throat. Bakura's cock was instantly at full attention, especially when he stared into Yami's fierce face. God damn was he ever a radiant Dom. Something in him just came alive when he caused pain. He was meant to do it. Bakura's vision went fuzzy at the edges, his throat and chest aching with his need for air. His mouth gaped as he struggled to breathe, and Yami leaned down to give his open lips a sensual kiss that it was far from his mind to return. His vision flashed and his shoulders jerked, his body fighting as it became desperate to draw breath again. Yami's sharp gaze watched his face with incredible intensity, but Bakura couldn't think of anything except breathing and the stars dancing in front of his eyes. Yes yes yessss...

He was allowed to breathe. 

All thought was driven from his mind, everything but how grateful he was for the air Yami was letting him take in. He lay totally limp and gasping like a dying man, knowing he'd have beautiful finger-bruises on his neck tomorrow. Yami's hand brushed through his hair, and the smaller man smiled a big, intimidating smile where he showed his teeth. He looked for all the world like he would kill Bakura, cut him open and drape his intestines and organs around his neck like he was adorning himself with the finest of jewels and gold. Bakura longed for it. He could almost cum just thinking about it - he had, when it was just him and his hand - the image of Yami with those pain-hungry eyes and that killer's smile, tasting Bakura's blood from dainty fingertips. 

"Come ooooon," Bakura croaked. Yami's position made it hard for him to take deep breaths, so the dizziness of asphyxiation persisted. Yami lifted first one hand, then the other; giving each a gentle kiss. The predatory look on his face belied the sweetness of the action completely. 

"You won't fight me?" Yami's tone was dark, but clearly teasing. Bakura gathered energy to struggle, but found he just couldn't do it. He was as limp as a doll under Yami. Hmm. Helpless then. That was nice. 

"Can't." He desperately hoped Yami would take this opportunity to use one of the knives under the bed, but they'd made him wary since that little trip to the hospital. It'd been very hard to make the staff believe that Bakura really had asked Yami to cut him as a sexual activity, and that there was no attack and no one had to go down to the police station. 

It was sad because Yami was great with the knife. There was a reckless artistry to him that Bakura adored. His mouth watered just thinking about the blood. 

"Make me bleed," he grabbed weakly at Yami's wrist, only to be swatted away. 

"Don't tell me what to do," Yami said firmly, letting him have another ear-ringing slap. 

When Bakura stopped reeling, Yami was leaning up to take something from behind the bed. There weren't a whole lot of shits to give about what it was, after all, that was the point. He wanted Yami to do his thinking, make his choices. Though his brain was already foggy, Bakura remembered he'd put that one toy back there, the one that was just a massive monkey fist knot on a short rod. It left bruises the size of baseballs that lasted for weeks, and never failed to bring Yami to tears when Bakura worked over his shoulders or thighs with it. That could be enough pain to satisfy his needs right now. 

He didn't realize he'd closed his eyes until he heard a sound he could never mistake - his zippo being struck. He opened his eyes at the smell of burnt lighter fluid, curious and needy. 

Yami was looking into the flame with something like greed or excitement. He looked wild. Bakura couldn't be sure of what he was going to do, but felt excitement clench his own gut. Once again, Yami gently lifted Bakura's hand. This time, he ran the tips of long pale fingers through the warm part of the tall flame. 

Bakura gave a pleased sigh as he felt the heat lick his skin. Yessss. He felt the even more welcoming warmth of subspace open up beneath him, beckoning him as Yami's hand tightened to that familiar vice grip around his wrist. 

Letting his eyes slide closed, Bakura felt the warmth move to the heel of his hand. This time, it built instead of subsiding. It went from the comforting heat of a cup of fresh tea to the mild pain of steam on his skin to...

"Hhaa!" Even to his own ears it sounded less like a cry of pain and more like one of ecstasy. The burn sent sharp bolts of pain down his entire arm, his hand automatically trying to jerk away but Yami holding it fast. He kept holding even when he drew the lighter away, and Bakura's hand trembled violently as the sharp agony settled to an aching throb. "G-God, Yami, fuuuuck," he groaned. Now that the pain was slightly less immediate, he could also feel the throb of his raging hard-on. He already felt like he was floating above the bed, and drunkenly reached for Yami with his free arm.

Somehow, Yami knew just what he needed. He took that hand and gave it a firm, grounding squeeze. He was here, he could do the thinking, and he would cause Bakura the pain he needed to feel normal again. 

Yami moved back a little, straddling his lap instead and settling that slight weight on his pelvis instead of his ribs. When Yami gave an experimental roll of his hips, Bakura couldn't stop a groan. The friction on his cock paired with the enduring ache of his arm was almost too much. He felt his other arm being lifted almost delicately by the hand that still clasped his, and when he heard the flick of his lighter again he felt a crazy swoop of lightheadedness. "Yesss," he croaked, his voice dry. His fingers tightened on the sheets that he couldn't hold because of the incredible pain of the burn. 

This time it seemed to come all at once, the heat started out bad and immediately got worse when he felt it on his forearm. He _howled_ , his grip on Yami's hand bone-breakingly tight even as his body thrashed in an attempt to get away. Bakura's eyes were wet and he didn't notice or care. He was shaking like a leaf underneath Yami, his breath coming noisily and his head swimming with pain. Yami leaned down over him, his expression studious as he combed Bakura's hair back from his face with his fingers. 

Bakura was completely above any sense of self awareness, but normally he would know all too well how disgusting he looked. His breath was coming in little whiny gasps from a mouth that hung open, his pupils were blasted, he was covered in tears and drool and snot and all that liquid had turned his perfect eyeliner into smudged raccoon eyes. Yami was detached and cold as he evaluated Bakura's slack expression; even when he rolled his hips down again. Bakura's cry was broken and helpless. He couldn't even manage to arch his body up into the friction, he was too far gone. Fuck, he was going to cum any second. His endurance was just embarrassing when Yami played with him like this. The only times he hadn't jizzed his pants were the ones where he'd started out naked. 

Yami grabbed Bakura's jaw with bruising firmness, pulling his head straight and forcing him to make eye contact. "Nn," he made a soft noise to show that he was still aware, if only barely. It was impossible to focus on Yami's eyes for more than a moment or two - it was impossible to focus on anything. When lips met his and the rough hand left his jaw, he let out another soft whimper. He knew his ability to kiss back was seriously lacking, but he didn't give even half of a shit right now. Yami's lips were sliding confidently against his own and his hips were grinding down in slow half-circles that had Bakura's stomach tightening and his thighs twitching. "Mmh, Yami..." He gasped, his voice completely out of his control just like the rest of him. 

Sitting up straight and looking like the vision of a dark God to Bakura's impaired mind, Yami took that first hand gently in both of his own. Bakura squirmed helplessly under him, watching with wide watery eyes as Yami brought his burned palm to his lips. 

The pain of saliva on the wound was so exquisite, so intense, that Bakura couldn't tell where it ended and his orgasm began. He screamed and twisted, feeling tears running down his cheeks as his mind was wiped totally clean. There was nothing at all but pain and pleasure roaring through him and eating him alive. 

Then there was nothing at all. 

He came back to himself very slowly. Yami had somehow gotten under him a little, because there was no way Bakura would ever crawl up on him like this, pillowing his head between chest and shoulder. He could feel his body trembling violently despite the blanket over him, and both of the burns were stabbing aches. 

Yami was finger-combing his hair. There was no way Bakura would ever admit it, but that felt amazing. 

"Bakura, tap me." Yami said, the slight hint of worry in his tone indicating it wasn't the first time he'd asked. His chest vibrated with his deep voice, mm that was nice. 

"Bakura."

Oh, right. He tapped Yami twice on the ribs with his index and middle finger. Fucking shit his hand and arm hurt. Saying that seemed like way more effort than he could handle right now - the pain was bad, but the idea of moving out of this spot when he was so comfortable seemed much worse. He just let his eyes slide closed; if he relaxed enough he'd stop shaking, right?

Yami let him float in the void for a while, as long as he needed until time didn't seem so timeless. Then they could watch some shitty movies and he could have a cup of tea and he'd actually let this stupid idiot coddle him as much as he liked for a change, because it felt so damn good. There was no other time when Bakura would be caught dead laying half in Yami's lap on the couch, burritoed in a blanket with his hair all neatly braided. It was disgustingly domestic. 

What Bakura could really never admit was that even _they_ could be disgustingly domestic. Maybe it made him feel a little better about it that someone had to really bleed to get them there.


End file.
